The Changeling
by shadychef
Summary: Bruce apologizes. Kind of.


Title: The Changeling

Chapter: 1/1

Rating: T (language)

Pairing: Bruce/Selina

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The Changeling

He was back on the roof.

This was the last place he had followed her to, the only place where he had seen her with _that boy._

 _Bruce Wayne that_ was what the red haired girl had called him.

 _Bruce Wayne._

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he had committed so much information to his memory since he had escaped with his brothers and sisters that it was often hard to sort through. His mind was porous, like an unused sponge absorbing everything, the positive and the negative.

When he had been taken from his cell, the only home he had ever known and shuffled onto the bus, his confusion had stopped him from asking anything of anyone. The people beside him had not looked like him, but neither had they resembled the people beside them. Each one of them was unique, birthed or created in an image he could not begin to comprehend.

From the crinkled papers he had fished from the trash, he understood how the people of Gotham viewed him and his brothers and sisters. Monsters. That is what they had called them. Monsters. Good or bad, the citizens had made no distinction, they demanded he and his siblings be hunted down and executed swiftly.

" _War is cruelty."_ One article had written, quoting an old army general. _"There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over."_

It was why most of them had separated, tried to flee the city or retreated to the comfort of the shadows and the sewers. It was on one of these excursions from the underground, that he had finally begun to understand that no one felt the way he did. Not any of his brothers and sisters and especially not the humans that flaunted their free will.

It had been an unusual feeling of curiosity that had had him follow the young human couple down the alley. He had been intrigued by the new heightened impressions he had felt from them; feelings that his siblings simply did not emote. Contradicting emotions had been rolling off of them. The woman's words and her actions had seemed as if she was enjoying herself but he could feel her… Not disgust or even apathy, but a kind of lazy detachment as if this was a chore and she had something better to do. Contrary to her encouraging words she may as well have been counting the bricks in the wall behind her. Then her feelings had changed to a sort of pity for the sweaty young man who kissed her cheek affectionately.

At the time, he had not understood how the man had not seen it. How he had not felt the woman's disinterest? Being so physically close to her, how had the man not sensed her boredom with him?

It was then that he had realized that not everyone felt the way he did. Literally. He had been living with the idea that everyone just ignored other people's emotional needs or their honest feelings, the way one might ignore a crying child that was not there own. He had not realized until that day, that he was the only one who could see them, feel them.

It was not long after that that he had found himself rummaging in the garbage cans outside of a club and a pale haired girl had forced a fist of bills into his hand. It was because of her that he had found himself back on the roof, away from his trusted shadows and baking under the relentless sun.

It was during one his visits to the roof that he had discovered her name: Selina.

 _Selina_.

It was a whimsical name, like something that belonged to a fey creature in a fairytale and seemed appropriate to her physical appearance. She looked otherworldly, with her small frame and her pale hair and a pair of cat-green eyes that were set so symmetrically in her heart-shaped face. But it was her aggressive show of kindness that had caught his attention that had compelled him to follow her across the city and onto this rooftop.

That day, he had been so close to revealing himself to her when _that boy_ had shown up. Immediately, he had felt her emotions like an unexpected gust of wind. Both of them were much stronger than anyone he had encountered before. Their emotions had escalated so quickly, he could feel it swirling around them, anger and confusion, attraction and regret. But none of those could compete with the hammering inside his own chest as he had had a proper look at the boy.

It was not everyday that one saw their face walking around on another body. He had tried to swiftly push down his fear as he had watched their interaction. He had seen the boy's frustration, his temper rising with each of the girl's dismissals. And the girl had been hurt. He had felt it, the flare of vexation from her matching the sound of anger in her barely veiled words. How could _that boy_ not have seen it? But maybe he had, because he had taken a step toward her, his voice soft and his own words apologetic.

Whatever he had said had not soothed the girl and he had watched as she had left. Her anger following behind her like a cloud of smoke. The boy had continued to stand there, like a funhouse version of himself.

That was the last time he had seen the boy. It was the last time he had seen the red haired girl as well. He had watched from his position behind the brick formation as she and Selina had argued. Their warring emotions so similar and yet so different than the ones he had felt between her and the doppelganger. When Selina had fled this time, her emotions had been less discernible, diluted by fear and weariness. With her absence he had taken his opportunity, and tried to speak to the red-haired girl, the one called Ivy. Despite her words, that she knew him, he had felt the fear in her right before she had run from him. He had gained nothing from her. Nothing but the name of boy with his face.

He had waited patiently on that roof so much like the gargoyle rainspouts that decorated most of Gotham's' buildings and Selina had come back that night. She had been whimpering as if she could not catch her breath and had smelled of fear and frustration and so he had watched her carefully. Physically she had been intact, unharmed, but something had been broken. She had suffered some kind of irreparable loss. He had heard those sounds once before, and they pulled at him, but his instincts had warned him against acting upon them. He understood this was on the inside, a hurt he could not see.

Days slowly past and he was considering abandoning his position when she crested the lip of the building, her task of feeding those birds seemingly never-ending. Her zipper reflected the blaring sun as she slid it down and pulled off the grey hood that had been hiding her pale hair. The building-tunneled wind did nothing to cool the humid air on the roof and her cheekbones had adopted a distinct shade of pink and the hair at her temples had already grown dark from the sweat dripping down her jaw. She wiped a forearm across her brow, letting out a sigh.

He was prepared to step forward as he had watched her unlock the coop but a noise from the direction of the ladder that hugged the north side of the building had stopped him once again. A familiar frustration threaded its way through him as he watched _that boy_ that _Bruce Wayne,_ climb onto the roof.

He could, he _should_ , confront them both, but something inside him kept him clinging to the brick wall like a shadow. There were so many factors to consider, too many unknown variables that he could not see. The girl had been generous to him, had shown him a kind of thoughtless compassion and had expected nothing in return. He had followed her around the city, carefully observing her. She seemed to know things, to know people, _important_ people. But then there was _that boy_ , that boy who had his face, that boy who seemed to be someone in this city.

Careful not to make a sound, he pushed himself as far into the wall as he could. He would watch. He would wait. Observation would cost him nothing but time, something he had limitless supply of and had the possibility to gain him all the information he needed. It was this same kind of study that had helped him survive since the day they had escaped.

The boy's manner of dress, so different from himself and from the girl, was all sharp angles and clean lines. The white collar of his shirt was crisp and contrasting beneath his dark colored sweater and tailored trousers. He was carrying something beneath his arm, a thin brown box with an indefinable marking on its cover.

At his approach the girl immediately stilled in her actions, like a small animal sighting a predator. But he could sense no fear from her, just… Agitation. She sighed, the sound long and audible, as if the very sight of him exasperated her beyond containment.

"Fuck off, B," she said, her voice low and scratchy as if from disuse.

He was not completely familiar with humanity's lexicon, but he was aware that the word should cause offense. This _boy,_ this _Bruce Wayne_ , stopped short at the infliction her words were to have on him, but his stubborn chin, the same chin that graced his own face, tilted up in a gesture of defiance. He said nothing back, but made no attempt to retreat either.

"I aint got the time," she explained, closing the door to the coop and leaning her back against it.

"Very well," he said, in that odd cant so different from his own. "This will only take a moment."

"Whatever," she groaned. "What do you want?" she asked, and gave the boy a wry smile, her pale eyebrows lifting in an obvious signal of her derision.

This boy with his face seemed to ignore the warning in her voice, and with the box at his side swinging with his long stride, took a number of steps in her direction.

She looked up into the angular face of the thin boy as if this very action was entirely new to her and that she almost despised him for it. At such a close distance their height difference was undeniable, the boy standing nearly a head higher than her. He heard her intake of breath, could feel the combination of emotions coming from her, but she only crossed her arms in response to the boy's presence.

"I wanted to apologize," he said, his voice unmistakably soft as he took one last step toward her.

"Yeah, and I told you not to worry about it," she answered, her eyes, so green and so pale in the sunlight, narrowing as she looked away.

"And I wanted to give you this," he said, gesturing to the thin brown box in his hand. "I was rather distracted the last time I came here and forgot to bring it to you."

"Really," she said the word almost a snort of disbelief.

"Really," he answered his voice even and soothing. Wayne held the box out toward her, but she simply looked down at the thing in his soft pale hands. Even from this distance, he could see the one small and unfamiliar word 'Delfaee' scrolled across the top in shiny gold lettering.

"What's that?" she asked, looking down at the box. Her lip was curled in a sneer, but he could sense her curiosity and another dull sort of emotion he was unfamiliar with. Just like in the alley with the lady, the girl's actions and her feelings were not cohesive, but unlike the man, this Wayne boy seemed to sense her well enough.

"A gift," the boy explained, handing it to her.

Begrudgingly she took it, but he could feel the slow tempering of her anger as she did so. Though the box was thin it was rather large but not for a single moment did it wobble in her firm grip. She cracked opened the dark wooden lid, like an experienced clam shucker looking for pearls. Wayne watched her intently, dark eyes bright and his thin bottom lip tucked beneath his straight white teeth; the face they shared betraying the excitement he could sense from the boy.

Her head moved back as she looked at the contents inside the soft interior: even from this distance he could see that on a bed of brown satin sat eight gold balls and in the center a small gold token.

"What's this?" she asked her light voice and the tilt to her head telegraphing her confusion.

He watched Wayne for his response, features so similar to his own fell as he looked down at the box. There was something unnerving in watching

some one else's emotion play out on your own face.

"They're chocolates," he said, that soft voice so matter-of-fact. As if to explain, Wayne's pale hand reached for one of the gold spheres and in less time than it would take for him to blink; he watched a gloved hand shoot out to smack the boy away.

He felt his body tense at the sudden physicality of their confrontation. But the gentle scoff he heard from the boy and the mischievous tisk the girl made he could feel the tension between them easing, as if leaking slowly from them, and in its place he could feel…

Again, it was something foreign. A myriad of emotions that he had not run across before and could not quite define. In this case, he had not quite untangled them yet. Inexplicably it left him excited and despite everything in him, everything that felt so new, at ease.

"I only meant to demonstrate, Selina" the boy explained.

"Sure you did," she replied, her voice heavy with doubt.

Wayne bit into his lip as looked down at her. "No need to worry you'll run out," he said, depreciating and lofty. "If you like them that much just wait. Alfred suggested I buy them in bulk, because in his words 'it's inevitable that I'll fuck up again.'"

The gasping sound she made was surprisingly genuine and she guffawed without embarrassment.

"Bruce Wayne," she said, in a lightly airy voice. "What did they do to you in Germany?"

"It's Switzerland, Selina," he answered, his eyes narrowing. "I can't help but believe you're beginning to do that on purpose."

"Maybe," she said, her full mouth curling up at the edge. From the sudden color in his cheeks and the muddled emotion in the air, he could see the effect that small gesture had on the boy.

Did he ever look like that? Had anyone ever compelled him to feel that way?

"Chocolates huh," she said, gracefully folding her legs below her as she sat with her back to the coop. She placed the opened box on her lap, testing the contents with an overly delicate touch. Her mouth twisted in confusion and surprise when her fingers came back dusted in gold powder.

The boys mouth quirked up in the same kind of grin Selina had worn, but there was something different about it. "It's edible gold," he explained.

"Sounds pretentious," she answered, but thoughtlessly brought the finger to her lips and licked it off. "And a waste of perfectly good gold, if you ask me?"

"Probably," Wayne agreed, turning his back to the coop as well. The boy narrowed his eyes, a grey that so eerily matched his own, and stared out at the skyline and he could feel as something in the boy suddenly slid shut. He reached out then, feeling around for the reason behind it, but despite the Gordian knot he discovered and chose to ignore, he could find no spare emotion to account for it.

 _This boy, this Bruce Wayne feels a lot._

Selina scoffed, the sound soft and airy, demanding both of their attention.

"Holy shit," she exclaimed, delight wafting from her as she pried something small and circular from the center of the box.

"Is this real?" she asked. Whatever it was, she quickly slipped it half-way between her lips, exposing her straight white teeth as she bit into it.

"Yes," the boy answered looking back down at her and giving her a tight lipped smile. His eyes were watching her with that same fascination he had seen earlier. "It's a Vreneli Franc. It isn't worth much, but I hoped you would appreciate the gesture."

She sighed, as if she was giving into something, as she placed the token back into its depression. He could feel her self-directed annoyance as she nodded to the patch of rooftop beside her. Wayne gave a lopsided smile as he took the unspoken invitation and lowered himself beside her. She tilted the box in his direction, but he waved it off. She merely shrugged at his refusal and took one small gold chocolate for herself.

At the first bite, he felt her sudden and unexpected burst of joy and heard the boy cough into his fist as his steely gaze once again landed on the skyline.

"So," she said, her words muffled by the chocolate. "About those people again," she said, already reaching for her next piece. "What dumbass thing'd you do this week?"

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Author's Notes: Thank you for taking the time to read. It really means a lot. Constructive Criticism is always welcome. Sorry, I know I should be workingon Chapter 14 or The Wendigo and the Lionheart, but after "Better to Reign in Hell" and seeing some lovely fanart I was inspired to write this. It is probably one of the strangest things I have ever written and completely out of my comfort zone so any feedback would be welcome. Again, thank you.


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